


What Fades In The Sun

by BugTongue



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Domestic Violence, Historical Fantasy, Infidelity, M/M, Questionable existence of magic, Trans Character, Unnamed extras dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22112518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BugTongue/pseuds/BugTongue
Summary: Kurapika isn't nobility, but he isn't far from the mark either. When a scuffle happens between the Kurta and the Phantom it's a matter of clan pride that he take the burden on himself and replace one life with another.He does his best of course, but he's hardly cut out for this."Nomads AU"
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Kurapika
Comments: 88
Kudos: 182





	1. Someone else's consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This story started out as a recurring roleplay between me and my friend Aldermoth. It has been heavily reworked to my storytelling taste and I hope that someone besides myself can enjoy reading it. This is not a krkr or a leopika story, but a fantasy drama that incorporates relationships and causality. Please note that there is marital friction as well as physical abuse in this story, but no one is outright vilified.
> 
> This story will update every Saturday for a total of 8 chapters. Thank you to Curlydots for proofreading and suggesting edits, youre a fantastic beta.
> 
> Stay safe, have fun, and please leave comments for me to slurp up to keep me going.

Summer was always toughest on the tents’ vibrant colors. Sunlight stripped red away the fastest, so many of the tents were blue or violet, colors made to last. Red was reserved for those of the main family branch, those with the most vibrant scarlet eyes. A flurry of snow had come through to obscure some of the designs on Kurapika's family tent. He would likely be set to the task of repainting the designs when the weather was pleasant next, as they were already faded from the summer sun.

There were stories told to the Kurta children that if they stared into the sun too long it would bleach the red from their eyes, as well as take their vision. As a stubborn child, Kurapika had tested the theory but thankfully had grown bored before any long term effects presented themselves. Growing up with the expectations that came with being of the main branch, he was often hard-headed and combative to make up for being pushed along by _shoulds and shouldn'ts._

One thing that came with the shift in his responsibilities was upkeep of the traditional designs on the tents. Now an adult and still unmarried, Kurapika gathered the stones, flowers, and berries that would be needed to dye their clothing and other textiles for use and trade. Gather, but not process--that was for the secondary branch and onward to fret over.

Soon enough, Kurapika would have more than enough to fret over himself.

\---

The swordsman from the Phantom Troupe pointed at two haggard looking Kurta merchants. Malika, the taller of the two, turned her whole body to level a look of disgust as the man continued his explanation to the elders, “These two attacked us and now accuse me of trying to rob them. Our companion is dead now, is this how your people treat fellow travelers?”  
  
“Did you try to rob them,” Asked the elder as a small crowd of villagers formed around the commotion.   
  
“If that had been what we wanted, we wouldn’t be here and neither would they.” He crossed his arms. His companions seemed more uninterested than ashamed of the display. The elder nodded his head, his brow furrowed deeply.

“You said your leader is on his way now? In that case, we will deliberate on the situation. Until he arrives you’re welcome to camp here and share meals with us.”

“We bring our own food, long journey, like to be prepared.” Kurapika took in the surprisingly deep voice of the shortest Phantom, realizing only now he wasn’t a child. As if sensing the sudden focus the man glanced up to meet Kurapika’s eye. “Sure you don’t offer in order to share _our_ meals?”

“We don’t need handouts. There’s a long winter ahead and our stores are just fine,” Kurapika spoke up, stepping forward to stand a half step behind the elder. “We like to be prepared.”

A narrowing of eyes and the twitch of a hand were all the man could muster before one of his companions put a hand in front of his chest. Kurapika continued to stare him down until the elder cleared his throat and put a hand on Kurapika’s arm to shoo him away. With a tisk, he turned his heel and left them to the old man and his cronies.

An absolute farce. Kurapika didn't believe for a moment they were innocent, in fact they likely sacrificed their companion in order to press the issue. Marauding demons, he had heard plenty of stories not only from the villagers, but from the very mouths of the Phantoms at the summer feasts.

\---

The day the leader of the Phantom Troupe arrived, rumors began to spread. That he could take the form of a crow, that he’d killed ten thousand men, that he was one of the living dead, that he was a witch. 

He wore a large black cloak topped with white fur that may once have been luxurious, but more recently resembled the landscape around it. Snow, sand, dust, and soot had all touched the thick fabric and become lost within its swath, but left remnants in the fur. His hair was slicked back with some kind of grease and windblown partially out of its clean bind. Kurapika pulled the tent flap aside further to get a better look as the man crossed the main road on his habitual strole of the village, but let it fall when even that was enough to catch his attention. His eyes were so dark on such a pale face it made the hairs raise up on the back of Kurapika’s neck when those eyes, so physically far away, caught his with ease. What was with these people? Perhaps one of the rumors were true.

Kurapika stepped away from the entryway and placed a hand over his pounding heart. A restless feeling crawled into his bones and set him on one task, then another, then another until his father grew weary of his energy and sent him to find his mother out in the field to see if she needed assistance. It wasn’t that he had nothing of his own hobbies and learning to attend to, but the idea of sitting down and reading through the dense books he was expected to absorb made him want to fall down dead. It made the elders shake their heads and blame his eclectic childhood, but there was nothing for it now that he was an adult.

The grasses of late autumn clung to his tunic and skirts as he stepped lively down the worn path from the village to the fields, still being knocked down and set to rest for the creeping winter months. Seeds stuck to the deeply dyed clothing and their undyed under-counterparts, causing Kurapika to make a face knowing he’d have to pluck them all out before the next meeting of men. Yet another waste of time the elders dreamed up sometime long before his birth, that the men should sit in a circle away from the rest of the folk to plan the lives of everyone else.

He was distracted, thinking of the smoky hut and its endless drone of logic and counter arguments and numbers he could hardly care for with his full heart. His distraction made it more difficult to anticipate the stones of the stream he would soon need to cross in order to get to where his mother was likely to be, rather than those dusty fallow fields. Distracted enough not to see the imposing stranger until he was already upon the man, Kurapika danced around the sudden body in his path. He misjudged the space on the worn ground and reached out to grab the Phantom’s cloak to keep from falling ass over eyes into the withering grass and brought them both a few hopping steps towards the stream.

The Phantom smiled at him in a way that hardly wrinkled the skin around his eyes, a small thing that was more of a secret than a smirk. Kurapika let go and clasped his left wrist in his right hand at stomach height politely before nodding, “My apologies, I wasn’t entirely present.”

“It’s alright. Where had you gone while rushing around like a doe?”

“... Hardly an appropriate comparison, does a doe normally scrape the bark from the trees?”

“I apologize. My questions stands, however clumsily.” The man brushed his cloak back over one shoulder to tuck one of those wispy strands of hair back into place. Up close, Kurapika could see the way the bridge of his nose made his eyes look sunken without any sleepless bruising beneath the lids, as well as a smattering of strange scar tissue across one cheekbone. Gunpowder hadn’t made it out this far yet, he must stray closer to the sea than any of the Kurta routes.

“I don’t believe I’m required to tell you that.” From the polite wrist hold to the more natural crossed arms, Kurapika took a step back only for the man to loom ever closer. The secretive smile became something more intimidating as he realized too late he’d given ground away.

“That’s not very nice, I’m only asking because you ran into me.”

Kurapika opened his mouth to argue but heard his named called from across the stream. No choice then, he fixed his expression into something less irritated. “I came out to look for my mother, if you’d excuse me.” He turned and crossed the stones.

\---

Evening came over the world much earlier in these shortened days. Kurapika had returned beside his mother as she had finished up before meeting him by the river, but he was still too restless to follow her into the tent. He walked along the edges of the lamplights, his feet carrying him in the direction of his friend Pairo’s home. His silent steps came to a halt however when he noticed smoke coming from the men’s hut. Probably just the elders at a time like this, but he had the right to be nosy.

As he approached the hut, he heard the muffled talk of the older men and their doddering leader from within. The sound clarified as he pressed one ear to the baked mud.

“... -Ust be paid for in kind. The loss of life is serious, we need not insult you by pretending otherwise.”

“Wise of you, I appreciate how thoroughly you’ve considered this in my absence.” He recognized the soft voice of the Phantom leader and suddenly felt as though the man must sense him listening in. But, when no mention of outside ears was made, Kurapika allowed himself to let the adrenaline rush pass. “That said, what then do you propose to repay us with?”

Silence. Kurapika could feel the tension growing and he pressed himself tighter to the wall to catch any rustles from within. “We’ve deliberated on that for some time now. With all things considered, we would offer you one of our own to replace the fallen Phantom member.”

“And how will you decide whom to send away?”

“We have already decided. That is, if you will agree to a marriage. You see, while we want to make up for the lost soul and the decline in your numbers, we would also like this to be a way to strengthen the bonds between our clans.”

He heard the Phantom leader chuckle. “As well as make sure we have reason not to kill the person you hand over to us.”

“Precisely.”

“I agree to it. Please make the arrangements as your resources allow, we will remain in your village until the end of the ceremony.”

Kurapika pulled away from the wall and swept away from this revelation. A wedding, how interesting. He wondered who the elders had approached so suddenly and why the rumor mill hadn’t already spread this around with glee.


	2. Lay the field to rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change of pace and a change of mind are over the horizon, if Kurapika doesn't throttle someone first.

After Kurapika’s grandfather died, his father Urik was then the head of the family despite the seniority of Kurapika’s grandmother. Kurapika had noticed his father sharing glances with Karina now and then over the years but as Kurapika grew older he showed no interest in marrying anyone but his best friend, and Pairo showed no interest in anyone. 

The understanding that their only child was refusing to look elsewhere for companionship wasn’t surprising, as he didn’t show interest in any of the girls he’d grown up with or seen at festivals and didn’t easily make friends in the first place. Not surprising, but still worrying nonetheless. When their bones had been picked clean of flesh by the birds of the sky and the bugs of the earth, who would be there for Kurapika? When the injury that had taken Pairo’s eyes and ate away at his mobility and health brought him to the same fate, who would be there for their child with the faraway dreams?

Decisions like the one presented before them were never easy, but when an answer to such a long pondered question presented itself so clearly who were they to turn the other way?

\---

Absurd was the best way to put it. So far beyond reason that the sky may as well have let the stars fall from their beds. Kurapika frowned, and then once he was sure this wasn’t a very poor joke his lips pulled into a snarl. “Absolutely not.”

“Your parents have already given their blessing, it’s been decided.” The elder’s cheek twitched in a way that simply begged for contact with Kurapika’s knuckles. “Please don’t put up so much of a fuss, it’s unbecoming. Besides it’s not as if you’re so attached to this village. Perhaps the ways of the Phantom Troupe will mesh better with your proclivity for running off.”

A guttural yelp of frustration launched past Kurapika’s teeth as he stormed into the elder’s space. “Don’t patronize me! I never agreed to be married off, I never agreed to go with the Troupe, I was not informed of this nor was I asked my opinion on it.”

“Will you go?”

“No! I will not. I refuse. Ask a marriageable woman instead.” He ground his teeth at the patient expression that came over the elders face.

“There aren't any who are single, Kurapika. Besides, we didn’t pick you for those qualities.”

There was surely a crowd forming outside the elder’s tent, and Kurapika didn’t dare rush out before this was settled. The worst of the crowd was already inside and watching his tantrum up close and personal. The village elders, his parents, and that man he now knew went by the name Chrollo Lucifer. Kurapika felt possessed. How could this seem like an acceptable path of action?

It was as if sparkles danced before his eyes at the realization he was being gotten rid of. He was to be scraped off the boot of the elder and sent away to whatever was fated for him, far, far away from the expectations he failed to live up to and the duties he failed to show an aptitude for. All at once he got his breathing and his behavior under control. “I understand now. But I will not be a bride, nor will I take on the responsibilities of one. If you must arrange this then arrange it properly to fit my place and title.”

His mother finally came to him to hold his shoulders and pull him close. “Don’t sound like you’re going to your execution, sunshine. We thought this would be the best for your heart, that’s why we’ve agreed.” He could believe that of his mother, but his father most likely felt he was dodging failure by agreeing to this. Kurapika decided it didn’t matter as he hugged his mother close.

This was a banishment in everything but name.

\---

The woods this time of year were freezing cold. The springs were beginning to ice at their banks and the greenery was all settling in to sleep off the cold. Despite that, evergreens stood fast and protected the inner meddows from the wind that blew over their enormous tops while the birch trunks stood like skeletal sentries between dark green bows.

Kurapika jumped down from one boulder to the next into the thin canyon, down below the enclosing canopy to the darkest part of these woods he knew. This was much further from home than even his own mother dared to go alone. It wasn’t that there were many predators in this canyon, but its distance from home was much further than any voice could be carried even before dipping down into its belly. Kurapika didn’t slow down until he reached the river that had been tearing away at the floor for more years than even the elders could fathom.

Finally he was as alone as he could get. Alone enough to let out the frustration and despair that was building up in his slight frame by screaming at the top of his lungs and throwing rocks into the river.

So it was decided. So it would be. That was fine, this was something he could work with. He could twist that awful man to his whims if he put the effort in. He just needed to stand firm in his personal rules.

_ ‘I will not bear him progeny, no matter what you told him.’ _

_ ‘You will do as you’re required, child. You will be strong and resilient, but you must also see to your duties as his consort.’ The elders had as much sympathy for him as there was air in the sea. _

_ ‘If he tries, I will kill it. And you won’t be around to punish me or tell him what I’ve done.’ _

They had shrugged as if unimpressed with his declarations, and he wondered if they knew more than he did about their frightening guest. If the man truly was a witch he might keep any ground plants away from Kurapika’s reach until a time they’d be fatal to him as well if he used them. It unnerved him how little they listened.

\---

“Do you hate me that much?” Chrollo asked him as they sat in the fallow field. Frost was creeping across the tops of the dead grasses and rocks, melting easily underneath Kurapika’s fingertip as he reached out to scratch some off the nearest stone. He had come out here to think and be alone with the smell of hay, but the witch of a man had seen him and saw fit to join in.

Kurapika turned to look him over as he deliberated. “No. But I don’t know you, and what of you that I do know, I don’t like. Besides, your reputation precedes you.”

“A reputation is merely a collection of rumors.”

“That doesn’t mean its incorrect.”

Chrollo plucked a few stalks of grass in order to braid them together absently. “No. But it does mean its incomplete.”

“We will have more than enough time to complete my understanding of you in our joint future. For now, you will not make me any happier by pointing out the flaws in my perception of a man I never intended to know.”

The breeze picked up as Chrollo inclined his head with a smile. “I suppose I can allow you your opinion unsullied by my yammering for now. Does that mean then that you accept the proposal?”

“I do, on one condition.”

The sun hovered just above the horizon at long last, having peeked just past the mountains as they conversed. Chrollo’s hair did not shine brown in it’s light, but the same purple as a raven’s wing or a beetle’s shell. His eyes remained as lightless as ever despite the sun on his face. He hummed in question, brow easing up nearer his hairline.

“Whatever my vows are, whatever rules the elders set, we create new ones once we leave this village.”

Chrollo considered him, bringing a thumb to his chin in thought. “I don’t see any reason to say no, but that does sound tedious and easily forgotten.”

“Then we’ll keep it short and simple,” He brought a hand up to shield his light from the long-reaching rays of the sun.

“Hm. You won’t share your secret vows with me until the deal is sealed then, will you,” Chrollo smiled as amusement settled over the previous consideration. “Sneaky, I think you’ll adapt just fine to our life.”

As the clouds blew past above their heads and Kurapika counted another day off between his present and their departure, he could only hope the man was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter lengths only go up from here so buckle up.


	3. Woven threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding arrives and they acclimate, to a degree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk of reproduction and the beginnings of uneven footing later on.
> 
> I really almost forgot to post this.

The cloth was dyed with every color they had until it was the richest shade of black they could produce, something that would eventually fade to a multicolored brown after years of washing and sunlight. It was sewn simply and embroidered with red thread, red jewel beads sewn into the curling designs that left room for geometric blank spaces. His left ear was pierced and left with a drop of silver and ruby, and his head was adorned with a hat made to match his clothing. Overtop of even that was a cloak dyed much the same way as the vest and skirt, lined with a quilting of down feathers from their beasts of burden, and the hems lined with yet more red thread. 

It was both wedding attire, artistry, and a going away present to keep Kurapika warm and well protected on his many journeys.

Autumn had passed away and the snow replaced the greying and dead earth. It wasn’t yet enough to silence the world but it was enough to chill one to the bone if care wasn’t taken. Three weeks since the Phantoms arrived with dilemma in tow and now Kurapika was being prepared for the ceremony. He was bathed in soap and dried flower petals, dressed in his recently completed garb with its pockets full of pine needles, and decked in as much silver and rubies as his family had saved up for such an occasion. If nothing else, he could run away and sell the jewelry to survive.

Chrollo, for his part, wore exactly what he arrived in. The only additions that Kurapika could see were the undyed sheep’s leather gloves and charcoal rubbed around his eyes and into his lips. If he wanted to look any more like an evil woods witch he would have to start levitating. He smiled as Kurapika stepped up to the birch platform for the Elder to wrap their hands together with ribbons. Silk had to be traded for with their own textile goods, and was saved for especially important situations. This silk was white and glossy and would most likely feel very soft against his skin if his wedding had been at a normal time of year and not this close to winter solstice. As it was, he wore his own leather gloves to keep his fingers from going numb in the wintry air.

The elder’s voice was as a buzzing fly in his ear; Kurapika paid very little attention to his words and instead looked into the eyes of the man he was to leave the winter village with. When the ice thawed and the flowers began to pop free of their slushy prisons, the Kurta would move along their ancient paths up towards the ice caps to take advantage of newly revealed and fertile ground for their spring crops.

Kurapika, however, would be leaving the warmth of these thick tents and feathered bedrolls for the frigid herder paths farther to the northeast. The Phantom Troupe came in their carts and on foot, seemingly unbothered by the incredible distances their clan traveled regularly, occasionally roaming even further to satiate the bloodlust they spoke of in their summer solstice festival tales.

When even looking into Chrollo’s eyes became tiresome, Kurapika let his own eyes slip shut. His mind flew swiftly and easily to the deep canyon with its river and its stones, protected by the scent of pine.

\---

When he danced after the ceremony, it was around a large bonfire he could only hope wouldn't cut into the wood supply for his people during the winter. Kurapika let his skirts fly and his feet kick up the dust where the snow had melted and steamed away from the fire’s billowing heat. The toes of his shoes curled up to a small point and had feathers sewn into them, made large enough to accommodate the thick socks he wore beneath his pants. He twirled out of his cloak and draped it over Pairo’s shoulders, then hopped away into the midst of the other dancers.

Anyone who was willing to look like a fool was encouraged to stand up and move, many kicked and twirled to the dances they were taught as preteens, but some simply did what their bodies had a mind to do. Someone clasped Kurapika’s arm and pulled him close and he recognized her as the woman from the skirmish that led to this marriage, Malika. She looked tense and with good reason; the two of them had never gotten along well after his childhood changed and besides that, she likely felt guilty.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“Don’t, you didn’t make this decision.” Kurapika switched their linked arms and spun once around her. “The Troupe caused the problem in the first place, and the Elders want me gone. Simple.”

“But I didn’t have to kill that guy!” She looked like she was getting angry, and when the tears broke loose Kurapika understood. “They could have sent me away instead.”

“You have a fiance, Malika. Don’t worry about it. Maybe try being less good at defending yourself next time.”

She scoffed, and Kurapika grinned. “Not on your life, or anyone else’s for that matter.”

“Then get over it and let me have fun before I leave, alright?”

Malika gave him a rueful smile, and their dancing came to a stumbling halt as she threw her arms around him and squeezed tight. “You weren’t ever that bad, don’t think we hated you. None of us hated you. You were just so damn weird about everything, all the time.”

He hugged her back and stayed quiet both for the lack of words and the lump that had formed in his throat.

After the fire had died down there was a roast, and then a feast, and then Kurapika was watching the village fade away over his shoulder as he rode behind Chrollo on his horse.

\---

They traversed the plains through snow flurries that became a light rain once the sun came up. Kurapika had fallen asleep, so Chrollo had held onto his hands in one of his own to keep Kurapika’s arms around his torso. The bleak, yellow dawn was enough to rouse him from the light slumber and he hid his face in the black suede and white fur of Chrollo’s cloak to yawn.

Chrollo had left a volley of horses along the trail, stabled at houses of people who chose to settle in one place in his territory to farm. They stayed here for his protection, and he utilized them as he saw fit. He explained it to Kurapika at the dinner table of one such house after the sun had gone down a second time. They had a meal of meat in milk tea, a few roots in the mix to flesh it out for the guests, and when it was over they slept on the floor of the main living space.

Kurapika curled up in his bedroll and let the warmth from his breath envelope his face until he drifted off to sleep.

It took them a few days to cross the plains to a stone castle that likely once belonged to someone with entirely too much wealth, and now belonged to someone with entirely too much greed. It seemed lived-in enough despite its state of decay, and someone had already set up the bedroom for sleeping, as well as a few other rooms. Beyond that were clear signs of disuse.

For the first week of this marriage, things seemed like they might fall into place on their own without too much of a fuss.

\---

The bed was comfortable enough, and large enough as well as free of pests. But there was no bed large enough to make the distinct feeling of being watched beyond the edge of it any less unnerving. Kurapika had gathered a bucket of water and a bar of soap from his wedding ceremony then stripped out of his outer clothes as usual, leaving only the shirt and pants, but even they needed to go in order to wash off the sweat from travel. His vest seemed curious to Chrollo, as did much of the rest of him.

“Do you mind?”   
  
“Not at all, please continue.” Chrollo laughed as Kurapika shot him a glare. “What, do you expect me to do something untoward? We’re bound together now, there’s no one in the world who would kick up a fuss at me seeing you properly.”

“I’m kicking up a fuss because you’re watching me bathe.” Kurapika unbuttoned the vest with purpose, already weary with the situation he found himself in. This man was childish and strange. “You should bathe as well instead of just watching.”

Chrollo considered that, then began removing his clothes all the way down to his undermost clothes. And then even those. Kurapika found himself watching the casual actions with rapt attention himself and felt both annoyance and warmth rise up within him. His new husband was, admittedly, very well built. He had the muscular build of someone who committed to strenuous activity and the padding of someone who ate well enough to survive such action. A host of scars adorned his flesh, and wrapped around his arm was a fading black tattoo of a twelve legged spider.

“Do you mind?”

Kurapika’s mouth was not the dryest it had ever been as he brought his eyes up to meet Chrollo’s. “Not at all.”

Chrollo took the soapy rag from Kurapika to wipe grime from his face, then handed it back to splash the suds away. His hands continued to work the water into his hair until it came loose from its hold, hanging down into his face as he sat back up. Kurapika busied himself with washing his own face, then setting about to remove sweat from the worst offenders.

“I've been giving it some thought, those vows and our plan for our own rules.”

“Mh?” Kurapika soaped the rag up again after a good rinsing, then worked it into the skin of his arm and shoulder.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been a very sex driven man, the way some of my companions speak of it makes it out to be some need that never goes away. To me it’s always been more of a tool.” Kurapika thinks within the safety of his own mind, that Chrollo might be the tool. “That said, it’s a tool I would like to utilize.”

The cloth stills against Kurapika’s scapula, then continues along its path back down his arm. “That is… one hell of an opener.”

“I think if we’re going to bother with this union at all, we should attempt to do it properly. At least in part.”

“You have some nerve asking me this the first moment you see my body,” Kurapika could see the red of own his eyes reflect off the dark of his companion’s and bit his tongue until the light faded. Awe softened Chrollo’s features for a moment before he remembered his point.

“Do you object?”

“Of course I object, I stated as much at the beginning well before the cutting of fabric had even begun on my ceremonial clothes. I will not fulfill the duties of a bride.” He shoved the rag into the bucket and sat shivering in the chilly room, covered in a thin layer of water.

“You don’t have any duties yet, but we are married and I do find the idea of a family enticing.”

“A family, not an heir? Not a boy?”

Chrollo shrugged, pulling the rag free of the water to wash his own body next. “Any child of mine would be taught the same things. No spider goes without learning to fight or care for themself.”

There was a door opening within the confines of their conversation, within the space between one mouth and the other. Light from it spilled out and filled Kurapika’s mind with the gravity of his, their, situation. He was alone with a man known as a ruthless warrior, bound to that same man by legal and religious rites, and very naked. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could fight, but that he wasn’t sure how many fights he could weather before something took place that would make life very unpleasant.

“I don’t want to… attempt this any more than necessary. And I can’t assure you it will even work.” He could follow through with his threat to the elder if need be. The scrublands around the ruined castle would hold something for him, and failing that he did bring a few things from home that might prove useful. Even if the idea of having a family of his own one day was a soft spot of light, it was one which sat so far at the edge of his horizon he could hardly think of reaching for it now. He supposed that if the gods willed it, they would stay his hand by some omen or otherwise.

Chrollo dipped the rag into the bucket and scrubbed the soap into it, loosening a few petals before setting the shrinking block aside. He moved his stool closer in order to move the rag in circles against Kurapika’s spine. The only sounds in the room were that of the washing until he broke it, softly, “That’s alright by me.”

Kurapika watched the greying water within the bucket swirl with soapy suds, his decision weighing on his tongue even as Chrollo leaned in to kiss his cheek. He couldn’t get the words past his lips to tell Chrollo yes or no, afraid they would become binding in ways beyond the mortal realm, so instead he turned his head and met his husband’s lips with his own. A nonreply would have to suffice for this.


	4. Meeting of steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something old, something new, something worth fighting for and something worth working for.

The castle grounds were mostly rubble and snow this time of year. The vines had shriveled down to their ropey stems and any wildflowers that might live in the damp shade the rubble provided were long since killed and buried by the snow. The wind kicked up flurries and blew them across the grounds up and up to the thin window Kurapika watched the world from. He watched a few ravens play with a sun-bleached bone, kicking up even more snow, and let his mind wander.

The sensation of Chrollo’s lips on his was the most recent and most alluring memory to focus on, so he let it pull him along. Their first time to bed had been less than productive, as Kurapika couldn’t bring himself to put his hands on the other and Chrollo seemed to have difficulty, well. Staying in the moment. Kurapika propped his chin in his hand to lean more into the chill of the morning as he remembered burning down to his core when they’d had to give it up for the night.

He’d enjoyed the physical touch at least. The body above his own, the slide of skin against his inner thighs, tongue sliding in to greet the roof of his mouth as hands cradled his face. He’d enjoyed it rather a lot actually and found that his body knew what it should lead to even if he’d never done so yet. Or rather, never successfully. The sensation of flesh where a chasm had been for as long as he’d known himself was strange and intrusive, but not unpleasant.

Kurapika stroked his own stomach with his thumb, eyes no longer seeing the snowy plains below. At least if Chrollo wanted to put anything here he’d have to try again soon.

The next time they tumbled into the bedding after Kurapika took matters into his own hands. And with his left hand on Chrollo’s chest and his right between his own legs, he found it much easier to get lost in the feeling of kissing. Two arms rose to encircle his torso and pull him close. Warm. Chrollo didn’t seem to run as warm as he did but it was still the body heat of another person and it soothed him in a way he couldn’t recall feeling before. The closest he could remember was curling up in a shared sleeping roll with Pairo under the enormous, glittering night sky.

That time he managed to get them both all the way through it, and the look of gut-punched surprise on his husband’s face was something Kurapika could quickly grow addicted to.

The fifth time they clashed amorously, he laid his cheek on Chrollo’s chest afterwards to catch his breath and felt callused fingers slide through his hair. “I think this should do it, if it’s going to happen at all.” Kurapika blinked his eyes open to focus on the bicep near his nose. He lifted himself up on his elbows to look Chrollo in the face to see if he was kidding.

“Do you not enjoy this?”

“It was you who said you didn’t want to make too many attempts.” Chrollo smoothed Kurapika’s hair out of his sweaty face.

“...” He had stopped thinking about it like that a while ago, actually. “I don’t find myself as opposed as I thought I would.”

“Hm. Then I should admit that I’m not too interested in this activity.”

“You seemed to enjoy it mere moments ago,” Kurapika groused, feeling foolish now that he remembered Chrollo explaining he wasn’t so driven towards the act of procreating. “I believe you’re right, however. If it’s going to happen then all we can really do is wait and see.”

Chrollo closed his eyes with a smile that smoothed away the lines on his face. He was young enough that only the lightest grooves had settled into his skin. “Finger’s crossed.”

\---

The members of the Phantom Troupe began to show up over the next week, leaving Kurapika to wonder how they were getting messages to one another. “Magic” was the obvious answer as well as the most absurd one available to him. More likely it was those black birds that seemed to follow them wherever they went. That didn’t leave out the possibility of talking birds and Kurapika was going to hold out hope.

There were so many of them despite being one of the smallest clans, more of a core gang and some people who owed them favors really, even with the family groups built around them. That core gang were the ones entering the dilapidated castle without the slightest daunt to their composure. He recognized them from the small camp that had popped up in his village’s periphery as well as from the clan gatherings, people with strange tattoos and scars that told of their exploits louder than some of the absurd fireside stories he remembered sneaking out to listen to as a child.

Stories of one armed beheadings and gore, stolen brides and treasure.

Kurapika felt the air thicken as they came. They drew the winter into the building’s stony rooms with their imposing air, and Kurapika was a wary man by nature. He always had spent more time in the surrounding wilderness than the rest of his people. He was surprised these people’s mounts didn’t fear them and cringe back, but he supposed that was to be expected from those who knew nothing beyond the expectations of murderers.

With the winter no longer approaching, but drawing to its deepest moments, Kurapika set about helping those who arrived get their belongings into the safety of the stone. There were stories to be told as well as loot to be sorted and traded. Someone asked if he’d like to trade his earring for any of the jewelry they had carried with them, someone else was not so kind about their offer and tried to yank the bauble right from his head until he finally lost his temper and broke their wrist. Chrollo had simply laughed at the offender, bright and mirthful.

“I wonder if they thought I would be accompanied by someone as easy to push around as the other folks in the hills and myre.”

Kurapika glanced at where Chrollo sat by one of the fireplaces, a bowl of noodles and meat in his hands. “It seems your people have a knack for mistaking mine for easy prey.”

“Hmm,” Chrollo hummed as he took a deep drink from his flask--a gift from one of his Spiders. “I wonder. They just seem so complacent.”

“You admit it then?”

“I admit nothing, and am capable of everything.” He smirked at Kurapika in the warm light of the fire, and this time the light reached those dark voids to make them twinkle. The effect was more violent than simple mischief. Even the wolves have their fun, with fangs that gobble up everything in their path.

\---

Three weeks had passed with midwinter building up to its zenith, and there was no change. Kurapika looked himself over, felt himself over. He’d been active enough in the village to know what the signs should be. It was very close to being a relief, except that he’d managed to wrap his mind around the idea by the third… attempt. He had decided he might not be so willing to force his body into giving up on creating life, but now it seemed his will had been way ahead of his actions.

The winter dragged on into a brown spring, the snow melting and allowing grey grasses to struggle towards life. Flowers presented bright splotches of vibrant purples and yellows paired with dainty white to see off the snow. Kurapika gathered a large basket of purple flowers and brought them back to the fire pit he’d claimed once the grounds were comfortable to tromp around on. First he shredded the darkest petals into tiny, wet pieces, then he transferred them to the pot of water sitting in the coals of his fire pit. He plucked stiff grasses from around his pit, then wove them into a usable ladle to remove the plant mush once they had withered and no longer held their original luster.

Chrollo came out to walk past him on his way elsewhere. Eye contact was their only greeting as he never came within comfortable speaking distance, nor seemed easily waved over at the moment. The distraction passed, Kurapika scooped out the petals, and poured in apple vinegar from the flask he carried on him, marked with twine so as not to be confused for his drinking water.

Then he began dipping in strips; one of white leather, one of woolen cloth, and another of much thinner leather with the fur still attached. He would have liked to have silk as well, but since he didn’t see the worth in trading his few belongings for goods nefariously gained, he would have to go without. Testing the local resources for dyes was something he knew how to do and kept his heart from growing too cold so far away from the life he knew. It kept his mind from focussing too solidly on the fact that it was two months since his romp with Chrollo, and absolutely no change from his body had made itself known.

It wasn’t as if a missed period was anything new to him; they’d never been very reliable for him in the first place. Perhaps he should have brought that up while he still had people he trusted to speak to about such things. The fact had been he appreciated not suffering the way some of his childhood friends had done, and who was he to question the good things that presented themselves?

He wouldn’t bring it up if Chrollo didn’t.

\---

With the arrival of spring came the packing up of belongings and supplies. The Troupe was on the move, and with that came the workload to match. Except that Kurapika didn’t know any of these people and no one seemed willing to reach out and give him a task. He got by with leading animals around to where they needed to be and making sure he wasn’t under foot either man or beast.

When the animals had been divvied up and attached to carts or mounted, Kurapika paced the castle grounds with the sparks of annoyance threatening to catch flame at the first reasonable target. When Chrollo approached him, it seemed he found his mark. “It’s time to leave now, Kura.”

“I might have known sooner without needing to be tracked down if I’d been part of the preparations.” He crossed his arms but still reined himself in for the most part. Chrollo’s hair was slicked back as it usually was when he wasn’t freshly bathed or rolling out of bed, but he still did a head motion that would accompany flipping his bangs from his eyes.

“Oh? There’s no need for that, everyone here has it under control.” He held out one gloved hand, and Kurapika sighed through his nose as he took it.

His patience continued to meet snares during the journey to the next place for the livestock to graze. The tents went up, rounder than the ones used by the Kurta, and with more drab decoration as well. The designs hung around the door and the eaves of the roof in browns and greys, the shapes of spider legs and brambles marking across dusty white leather.

At each task he was met with shrugs or outright asked to move out of the way--asked, not told, only because he’d proven to be rather irritating or outright volatile when tried. There were still chuckles over the broken wrist he caused, but no outreach to bring him into the fold.

He thought, also, as consort to the leader of the clan he might be privy to any of the planning, any of the leadership. When nothing of the sort was afforded him, his temper simmered even further. Kurapika realized that eventually he wasn’t going to be able to hold his tongue. Something was eventually going to give, and he would prefer if the giving took place by his own volition rather than in a bright stroke of flint tongue to steel word.

\---

The crystal veil of stars arched high over their heads with the moon slung low on the horizon, budding and leafless trees sparsely scattered along the steppe. They had risen in elevation, Kurapika could feel it from the extra breaths he had to take for the first days nearing their new home, and he could feel it now in the coolness of the night. Chrollo sat out away from the fire and tents, where the livestock mumbled softly in their huddled masses. Chrollo looked up as he approached. Kurapika knew it was more for his benefit than Chrollo’s, who knew exactly who was nearby from their footfalls.

“Something’s on your mind.”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Oh?” It was always so strange to him how Chrollo could be equal parts damningly perceptive and yet fumble in other areas of awareness. “For what reason?”

“Am I your equal?”

“Not in the classic sense of the word, you do belong to me.” He was unaffected as Kurapika bristled.

“I’m to stand beside you at the very least but instead I have seen backs and blank eyes. For what reason am I being left to the side as mere decoration?” His fists clenched at his sides as he spoke, ready for the fight that was in his heart but nowhere to be seen before him.

Chrollo stood. “You want to be equal to me? I have seen no reason yet to consider the thought. Equal to me, I see… You must not know what that entails.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“What do you know of battle and starvation?” There was no sign of amusement in the man’s face now, all deep shadows and subtle lights bouncing off his leather attire demanded it. “Have you yet taken a life?”

Kurapika squared his shoulders and fixed his stance to better match the threat rising up to meet him. “It’s my due to learn isn’t it? Now that I’m yours, now that I have nowhere to lay my head but your pillow.” He stood fast as Chrollo approached him and fit his jaw in one rough hand. The barest pressure from the heel of his palm laid against his throat, and he swallowed

“Your due? It’s an honor for sure, but one that must be earned. Go and sleep my dear, you may fight me for that honor in the morning if it’s still troubling you this much.” He bent inwards and pressed cool lips to the matching, burning set of Kurapika’s.

\---

Morning was a vague promise still when Kurapika dragged himself out of bed, leaving his husband to continue lying down until a more reasonable hour. The sun had yet to rise, birds yet to sing, and the drone of waking night insects still hummed above the low fog rolling across the grassy plain. He had taken Chrollo’s sword, knowing he’d be given someone else’s for the fight, but wishing to get a feel for the weapon first. It was steel, sharper than the mountain peaks off in the distance, and heavier than any of the wooden swords his family trained with.

His arms were sore after only a short time swinging the thing around but he was not to be deterred, and the practice was better than nothing at all. If he were a more patient man he might give this some work first over a few days, perhaps a week. He was not so patient.

His training session came to an end when Chrollo took the sword from his hands with purposeful but not unkind motions. He slid it into the sheath on his belt, then tilted his head to look Kurapika over. “It’s not nice to leave a man defenseless.”

“You’re far from defenseless, even without all those knives you keep on you.”

Chrollo smiled and brushed his fingers through Kurapika’s hair. “You eyes are red, are you accepting my challenge then?” His nod was met by one of Chrollo’s as he was led to the center of their set up camp. He placed a hand on Kurapika’s shoulder for him to stay there while he retrieved a sword as well as its owner as witness from one of the nearest tents. He tossed it to Kurapika in its sheath, and he pulled it free to feel the weight of it. Lighter than Chrollo’s sword with a wrapped handle of black rope that left spaces for etched designs in the metal to show through. He was afraid it would shatter if he hit the other sword wrong, and was relieved to see Chrollo accepting a similarly sized sword with a fancy guard from a family member of a different Spider.

All movement came to a grinding halt as Chrollo aimed its tip at Kurapika. “Raise your weapon so we can begin.”

“Strange, I half expected you to rush me before I could.” His words gained him another of those twinkling smiles from the man.

“No need for dirty tricks among friends.”

They clashed together with light strokes, a greeting more than attempts at a fight. And then Chrollo ducked low and jabbed the sword at Kurapika’s legs. He had to vault back to avoid being skewered and spin to gain the force necessary to meet Chrollo’s first real swing. 

“No tricks, plenty of murderous intent,”Chrollo said.

“I’m taking you seriously so please return the favor.” Chrollo swung at him like he was trying to cleave a man in two diagonally, Kurapika had to deflect and endure the sound of metal scraping longways along metal. Light on his feet, he dodged back for the space he needed to get off the defensive, but Chrollo never gave him the chance.

His arms twinged at a particularly hefty strike and Kurapika wondered just how much abuse these thin weapons could take before their respective owners would need to demand recompense. And then Chrollo swirled the sword around his fingers, gripped it again, and slammed the hilt so hard into Kurapika’s diaphragm it sent him to his knees in an instant.

His vision flickered, expanding and coloring with surprise until it settled on gilded boots and the tip of a sword between his eyes. “That’s enough. When you’re able, get to your feet.”

So he’d lost that easily.

He wasn’t as skilled as he’d thought he was.

He coughed when he was finally able to get air into his lungs again, and took the offered hand. “A lesser man would have died much sooner than you held out, Kura, I hope you won't be offended when I say I expected to knock you down long before that.” He looked up finally to meet Chrollo’s eyes.

“A loss is a loss.”

“Not necessarily. I will consider your desire to stand beside me, but first you’ll need to get stronger to do so. Not all of our enemies are complacent prey sitting with their hands beneath their legs.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Kurapika’s temple, then spoke more quietly to him. “And now the others know your skill level as well. You’ll need to be able to defend yourself if you expect them to trust your judgement.”

Kurapika nodded with a sigh, sweat dripping into his collar. His unfocused eyes didn't see the village, only the many, many hours of training he would need to put in to catch up.


	5. Failure to communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something drastic, something dramatic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Kinsdura for beta-reading this for me last minute!!! <3

With the loss fresh in his mind, Kurapika set to work honing himself. He was already graceful and strong due to running through the wilderness on his own as often as he did. From standing on logs to taking Chrollo’s sword often enough he was gifted with his own.

“I want you to keep this at your side now,” Chrollo said as he handed it to him while they sat near the fireplace in their tent. No one else shared their tent, and Kurapika wondered if Chrollo had the luxury previously of living alone before their marriage or if the tent was a wedding gift. The saber was light and felt good in the hand as he stood to give it a few swings. Chrollo leaned back on the rug and watched him until he sat down. “Any other weapons you want, you'll have to gain yourself.”

With Kurapika’s knack for creating dyes for cloth and paints, he was already gaining interest in the form of small trade offers. Whittling tools or small knives for him to dye pouches or patches or clothing, jewelry and coins if he would come detail their doors or pieces for their walls. He wasn’t terribly artistic, but he could repaint what was already there to bring an old design back to life.

Someone finally offered him some tobacco after he agreed to enter their home and revitalize a section of their door. It was the first person to do so despite most clans having customs to share immediately, simply because it was the thing to do. The Phantom Troupe was much stingier and much more jealous of their hoards, no matter which items of their hoards it was. Once they grew tired of something they would sell it, but never give it away unless it was to someone they truly respected. Kurapika accepted and took the polite amount, and let the gnawing itch for nicotine finally be soothed.

He never asked for any of Chrollo’s mostly because he wasn’t sure the man even partook. He wasn’t a particularly polite man, and he seemed more interested in weak beer than anything else available to him even with his ability to steal whatever he wanted out from under whomever he pleased.

Kurapika wasn’t sure when that had gone from disgusting him to being a point of charm.

His sword at the ready, Chrollo met him again with that same ready smile. Like he wanted nothing more than to pluck every feather from Kurapika’s metaphorical wings. This time when they clashed it took much longer for Chrollo to beat him down to the dirt, it gave him a sense of pride just to have made things more difficult than the last time they clashed.

This time when they laid down to sleep after a long day of sparring,cooking together, and being fully, properly welcomed by the Troupe, Kurapika couldn't keep his hands to himself. Nor his tongue, nor his teeth. He breathed in Chrollo’s exhalation as fingers wormed down between their bodies to push against and within right where Kurapika’s fire burned the hottest, then stoked it further. This time when they settled in for sleep, the goodnight kiss lasted much longer.

\---

“We’re doing what?”

“You should be skilled enough for this by now, don’t look so worried.” Chrollo brushed his cheek with the backs of his knuckles, as if Kurapika feared for his own safety. As if that could possibly be the issue here.

“It’s just a small village of farmers, they’re tending to crops not hoarding any wealth we need.” Kurapika followed him out of the tent as he buttoned up his vest, finally needing to dress for the warming weather. Each month they crept closer and closer to the frozen solid north sea, keeping themselves relatively cool all year long despite the fast approaching summer. Kurapika’s heart skipped a beat as he saw other Phantoms gathering their weapons and ammunition, from bows and swords to actual honest to god fire lances.

Chrollo paused finally and turned to face him as Kurapika drew up close from following at his heel. “They have food, among other things. If they were smart they wouldn’t have set up their homes within our grazing circuit, or at the very least sought my permission first. As it is,” He hoisted himself up onto his horse. “They weren’t smart enough, and I hope they aren’t smart enough to flee either.”

He set an imposing figure against the dusty blue sky, obscured only by the dirt devils kicked up by the wind. Kurapika spread his arms out. “I won’t fight a non-combative people! I will not hurt innocent people because we couldn’t be damned to plant a few seeds!”

“Then you will manage my horse while I do.” Chrollo held his hand out to Kurapika to pull him up behind him on the beast. Black leather gloves this time, even his coat with the white fur had been exchanged for one with no fur and more gold stitching. He was prepared to be soaked head to toe, wasn’t he? Kurapika stared at the hand, then around at the increasingly prepared Phantom members, and then with one last foolishly hopeful look to Chrollo’s face to find no mercy in those inky eyes, he grabbed it. He was pulled up, his own sword at his side through force of habit rather than the tangible bloodlust surrounding him.

At the very least, He would be able to defend himself if someone got brave.

Chrollo led the ride but not the assault. It was hard and fast across the scrublands until they came upon a village so sleepy it made Kurapika’s chest ache with the memory of his own, but they held back. Others rushed past them, extra riders jumping off to run in on foot, into homes and fields with their steel, with their fire. Kurapika clutched at Chrollo’s stomach as he watched. His breath shortened high in his throat and he knew his eyes were an angry red from the haze that filled his vision. The first scream broke the sound of relentless movement, and he felt ill.

He wasn’t entirely in his own body when Chrollo peeled his hands away and jumped down to stride towards the fray. He wasn’t in control when he gripped the reins and reached down to sooth the horse. He certainly wasn’t in his right mind when he watched from his perch as someone ran towards Chrollo for help only for him to grab them by the hair and rip their throat open with one of those daggers he kept up his sleeves.

\---

The horse flew over the ground as if wings had sprouted from each hoof. Did he pull it’s reins? Did he spur it into action? He couldn’t recall. His mind was scraped raw and screaming from the pain, bleeding panic into his bloodstream.

He had known well before now that the Troupe was a bunch of murderous thieves, he had not gone one day without some kind of reminder. But watching, hearing people die, was very different from the abstract. Kurapika thought of the way it felt to hold Chrollo surrounded by soft blankets and warmth from the stove then paired it with the image of him wide eyed and covered in blood.

The image of the wolf from the fireplace slammed into his mind, and this time he was fully aware of kicking the horse to go faster. He must have screamed because his throat was raw by the time Chrollo’s horse grew sick of his antics and reared hard enough to slam his face into its neck to dislodge him. He tumbled backwards over his hindquarters, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

When he looked up he was surrounded by unfamiliar bajadas. The dust filled his lungs and forced him to cough once he was able to breathe again, and he felt the back of his head. No blood there, but when he tilted forward on his knees drops of red dripped into the sand from his nose. When he caught sight of the clouds fading from the horse, he only hoped it ran back to its master rather than die out here in the desert.

He, however, needed to find a third option.

\---

The mountains here were dry and crumbling, wind torn rock filled with sand from the surrounding desert and scraggly shrubs too stubborn to die under the sun. Kurapika grabbed hold of a sturdy piece of rock and hauled himself further up. He ripped up shrubs as he went, already worried about water. First he would secure shelter and heat, at least enough to warm up rocks that would hold it into the night. He found a cave, more of a crevice, to curl up inside and attempted to start a fire.

“If this works it will be difficult to pretend there’s no luck in this world.” Kurapika mumbled to himself as he held his sword at just the right angle to intensify the reflection to its smallest point, right over the driest of the twigs. When it slowly began to smoke, and then catch flame, all he could do was set his sword down and snort.

Once the fire had been going long enough to build up coals, he pushed rocks with the most iron into them to capture their warmth. However he was growing thirstier than ever and feeling foolish that all he’d had with him was the skin he carried around camp slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t like he knew he’d be running away or he’d have prepared better than this.

If it came to it, he’d start gathering cacti for the bare minimum and walk in the direction of any of the people who knew Chrollo. Although there would be no way to ensure they wouldn’t send word to the man that his consort had gone their way. A shadow passed overhead and he looked up to see dark feathers disappear behind the top of the cave he was crouched within. With growing dread, he hoped his luck would hold through and that it was merely a hawk.

\---

Luck, as it turned out, was as fleeting as fortune. The bird heralded the end when it flew in with its shiny black feathers and began to preen the dust from them, head tossing if Kurapika came too close to the opening. He narrowed his eyes at it, knowing that it was from the same brood as all the rest of the Troupe’s messengers. Chrollo’s bird appeared first, then his shadow as he approached the cave, and finally the man himself came into view.

‘Livid’ looked good on him, as well as deeply terrifying in a primal way that had Kurapika on his feet in an instant, eyes lit up like the warning of something poisonous and small. He brought up his sword and met Chrollo’s flurry of furious hacking motions. It was as if he was simply trying to cleave straight through Kurapika’s blade to get to him, barrier be damned. It had to be twisted from his hand with a slide of metal on metal and the force of disarming him left himself wide open for Chrollo to grab his wrist tight. Bone-crushing. Kurapika snarled as he was forced to drop his sword and threw himself into the other with as much momentum as he could muster.

Out of the cave and onto the sunbaked, sandy rocks. Chrollo tried to grab his throat and got a fist to the cheek for his trouble, and then he grabbed again with more precision. Kurapika beat on the man’s chest but gained no mercy, so he slammed his fist into Chrollo’s inner elbow to dislodge him instead. “Stop!”

“You run off with my horse in the middle of a raid, after extensive preparation, and then hide in the fucking mountains? If its death you want you won’t get it from the elements, I can make sure of that.” Chrollo grabbed at his throat a third time and slammed him into the hot rock beneath them. A knee to the ribs was what it took to remove him this time. That done, Kurapika scrambled back along the ledge until he could climb to higher ground.

A hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked him back down so he could press Kurapika bodily into the rock wall. A hand in his hair, an arm yanked behind his back, and a leg bracing his knees against the wall were finally enough to immobilize Kurapika. The air was too hot and too dry for him to be gasping open-mouthed like this but nothing else got the air as deep into his lungs as he needed it. “Are you done, my love? Do I need to convince you any further how bad of an idea this was?”

“Are you threatening me?” Chrollo shook his skull hard enough to rattle his brain and force him to hiss from the disorientation.

“You had wanted to stand beside me. You had trained, I trained you, so that you could join me in what I do. And the first time I bring you with me you flee in a panic.”

“You were murdering farmers! You were killing innocent people, you slit a man’s throat who ran to you for help and now you’re surprised I couldn’t abide by such evil actions? You’re lucky I didn’t try to save any of them from their attackers!” He tried to claw at the rock for purchase with his free hand as he was pulled back, then turned and shoved into the uneven wall again to face Chrollo.

“And what if I never found you? There isn’t a single settlement you could reach on foot out here. There is no water besides that which the village was dredging up from the ground. You would have died.” 

“I would have survived.”

“You would have died. And your bones would have bleached in this desert long before you would have found your way out.” Chrollo seemed to calm down in increments, in the lessening of force by degrees. He cupped Kurapika by the face, and then he kissed him like if he mashed their bodies together he could ensure that Kurapika was still living flesh.

When he pulled away, Kurapika was the one to break the silence that had fallen, “You tried to kill me as greeting.”

“I may yet kill you, Kura.” The words made him feel cold despite the sun baking into his face and hair from behind Chrollo’s body. “If I cannot trust you to accompany me, then there is no point in bringing you along or continuing to train you. If I cannot trust you, then you will return to the castle.”

“You’ll exile me to a different wasteland, then?”

“Until I can allow you into my bed again, yes.” He pulled away from the wall and Kurapika with him, a hand still on his wrist. “Call it a punishment if you’d like." He turned from Kurapika’s scowl before those angry scarlet eyes could dull with the loss of a battle to keep up with.

\---

The horse had indeed run back to its master. They rode back towards their herd and tents to rest for the night, then they would make the journey to the castle. It was a rotten night’s sleep what with how tightly Chrollo held him and how anger burned in both their bellies. Kurapika only got a few hours of sleep after wiggling free sometime in the night.

The journey to the castle took only a handful of days, all of which seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. He was angry with Chrollo but that didn’t mean he would choose isolation over angry nights.

Warm air played with Kurapika’s hair as Chrollo helped him down from the horse. He didn’t join him on the ground, opting instead to look down from his high seat. “You won’t be entirely alone, Kura, I’ll send people to check on you and make sure you have what you need.”

“You don’t need to sweeten me up now, you’re leaving me after all.” Kurapika shifted the strap of his back where it pressed into his shoulder. “If you were worried about my well-being all on my own you wouldn’t send me away.”

Chrollo closed his eyes and sighed, a smile pulling at his lips. “I know better than to worry too much, think of it more as a precaution against the worst.”

“Or to make sure I don’t run off again.”

“I did say the worst, I never clarified.”

Kurapika squinted from disapproval and felt his lip twitch into what wanted to be a sneer. “Go home, Chrollo.” He turned his back to the man to push open the large castle door, easier now than those first few nights. He did not check to see if he was heeded.


	6. The fire that burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Chocoholic221B for beta reading at THE last moment for me because I procrastinated until the end of the day it was due @m@ Actual life saver.

There were a plethora of ways to climb the castle, from climbing out of the broken windows or out from the ledges of the balconies, to grabbing hold of the thickest part of the vines reclaiming the buildings. Kurapika was balancing on the roof of the most stable spire available to him when he saw the approaching rider. Only one and it didn’t look to be any of the people Chrollo had sent to bring him supplies to live comfortably.

No. Chrollo had finally come to retrieve him. Kurapika had wondered when he would arrive, if he would leave Kurapika out of the festivities to further drive home his point.

Kurapika moved with grace and near-silence as he descended the roof and slipped into the spire to take the stairway down. The benefit to being trapped in the Spider’s stronghold for a few months was being given the opportunity to explore every nook and cranny of the damned thing. He didn’t want Chrollo to know just where he’d figured out how to get to and how much he stuck to during his time here. Simply knowing where thieves hid their most important hoards was a dangerous thing to reveal.

He rushed to his room to slip his knives, stolen from the thief's cache, into his belt and shoes before strapping the sword to his waist. All of his clothes he intended to take either on his body or within his pack. The quiver and bow were new creations he’d worked on while trapped here, as were the clothes on his body. Even if he wasn’t allowed to go to the summer solstice festival he was damn well going to celebrate on his own.

Shimmering blue silk from the seaside people hemmed with a deep yellow fabric he dyed from nearby roots, new shoes with thicker soles made of blueblack leather and beaded with swirling patterns. Even his underclothes were newly sewn within the week. Fresh and soft, thin enough to allow the breeze to keep him cool without having to roll anything up. The only thing he had yet to do was trim his hair, so he sat down before the chipped mirror to hack away at the uneven braid he’d thrown his hair into before meditation.

Chrollo entered the room to find him covered in loose hair and focused deeply on making the ends of his hair even with each other. He shut the door behind him, looking Kurapika over curiously. “You look nice.”

“You look the same as ever.” Kurapika’s gaze slid from his own hair to Chrollo’s face. “Finally get bored of sleeping alone?”

That got a smile from the man as he put his hands behind him and leaned against the doorway. “Surely you know what the time is? I came to pick you up, Kura, I believe your mother would make standing to relieve myself impossible if I met her again without you.”

“A wise fear.”

“Let’s be on our way then. You seem to be packed up already.”

“I am.”

Kurapika brushed his hair out and cleared the debris from his clothes as he followed Chrollo out to their ride.

\---

The throng they wove through was made of all sorts of people Kurapika only vaguely recognized. He saw most of these people only once a year after all, and most that he recognized at all were only by face, ask him their names at blade-point and his life would be forfeit. Simply wading towards the bonfire was a challenge.

They weren’t late, exactly, but they hadn’t shown up in time for prime camping picks either. Due to the amount of people the tents were packed closer together and animals were painted, dyed, and braided with ribbons to show ownership. It was a flashy collection of colors with each tent waving a banner near the door for which clan it belonged to, allowing for some families and clans to group together while others chose a more diverse approach.

The members of the troupe who weren’t within the inner circle of Spiders were set to the task of raising the tents while Chrollo took his gang and his consort among the crowd.

Kurapika looked for familiar faces but failed to spot anyone he cared to approach, no Pairo yet, and neither of his parents could be picked out now that he was within the kicked up dust and wafting smoke between so many shoulders and heads. Waving arms further obscured what he could see, until he lost even the people he arrived with. Well, if Chrollo wanted him he could come looking or raise his voice. Kurapika allowed himself to follow gaps in the mass of shuffling adults and running children until he found his way to the gambling boxes. Sheep’s bones and treasures to wager from seeds to textiles to alcohol in clay or glass bottles. Money would be wagered later on when goods had settled in to the hands who valued them most.

Farther along and closer to the fire were the storytellers. That was where he caught a glimpse of his husband talking with some other men, all of which seemed to be enjoying the act of speaking much more than the act of listening. Pretentious. He rolled his eyes knowing how unbearable it would be to come anywhere close to earshot, his mind straying to the men’s tent from his village.

His old village, at least. Once more he stood on the tips of his toes and once more his search was fruitless. He continued on towards the back-lit figures dancing by the rising flames of the bonfire.

Dancing. Kurapika considered the scene and found it lacking, the urge to prove his mastery of all things braying at him from the pit of his heart. Yes alright, this he could give in to. He pulled the knives from his boots with a flourish and removed his sash to tie to the handle of each knife. His actions drew both eyes and the space needed to show off without casualties. One knife swung over his head and stayed there orbiting while he made the other do the same off the end of his arm, foot sliding across the dirt. He swung his body around and brought the knife off his arm along with him but kept the one above his head in place before bringing it down towards his ankle, then back up. Fire licked at the points of his knives once his dance picked up in speed and flamboyance, the shadows of his form playing across the ground and over the faces of onlookers.

The sensation of being watched was different than the knowledge that he was entertaining, and when he looked up, the image of brown eyes caught in his mind long after the face melted into the others around it. He cursed and grabbed the handles of his knives before he could make any fatal mistakes, looking for those eyes which had drawn his own.

Nothing, and when his dance ended, the space around him shrank to nothingness with dancers once more.

\---

Kurapika readjusted the sash around his waist and finally found his mother among the hunters, draped not in her usual tunic and skirt but in the colors of their family. Her face opened into a bright grin and she threw herself into him for a hug that knocked them both to the ground. “Kurapika! Oh, it’s so good to see you, half a year is too much!”

“Far too much, I wonder who you drag off into the forest for your trips now, I’m sure it’s not my father.”

“Ew, absolutely not. Can you even imagine him in the woods? The man thinks the dirt needs to be more orderly.” She stuck out her tongue and Kurapika laughed faster than he could think to hold it in. “Are you going hunting with us? You’re surely old enough.”

Kurapika’s grin turned meaner, more bitter as the frustration came back to him. “Old enough to be married off, I’d like to see the elders tell me I can do one thing and not the other.” Thankfully, it didn’t seem Karina would be making any excuses for the old men, and instead just popped her brow along with a bob of her head.

“I’d steal you along regardless.”

“Is this your child then, Kari?” One of the other women peered around Karina’s shoulder at Kurapika, who took in the stern downturn to her mouth and the strength in her crossed arms. She looked like she was more suited to working raw metal than horseback archery. Although, he supposed the muscles shouldn’t be too different. Whatever her usual day to day life was she didn’t seem all that impressed with the boy on the ground.

“My son, yes. He’s gone hunting with me almost as often as I’ve gone out myself.” She stood and hauled Kurapika up without releasing his hand afterward. Then she brought her other hand to her mouth in a shushing gesture, smiling. The woman nodded, eyes closing with a sigh weary enough Kurapika was sure she was a dear friend of his mother’s.

“Let’s get a move on, then. No use wasting time telling you about tradition.” With the okay from who he supposed was the leader of this hunt, they got to work tacking their horses and readying their bows for action. Kurapika was to borrow his things from another member of the Kurta clan. As luck had it, one of the girls had suddenly fallen sick, and he would have to thank her for the theatrics afterwards without alerting anyone to the fact she was faking. Seems he was missed to some extent.

He rode off behind his mother onto the plains. They were after birds, stray reindeer, rodents; whatever didn’t move fast enough. He broke off to circle a ruff of grass opposite to someone else, and notched an arrow to loose on a startled fowl. The summer solstice feast was more than just for the consumption of food, it was to show off the skills for hunting, cultivating, and preparation. There were large beasts already roasting over the fires, the hunting of these creatures was as much celebration as eating them would be for the rest.

That cheerful feeling sparked up through Kurapika’s arms and straight to his core as the bird dropped to the ground, dead, and someone else quickly scooped it up into a sack. Kurapika spared a moment to grin up at the alighted flock fleeing into the sky after he’d startled them by taking one of their ranks. Being locked up in that tower hadn’t done much to dull his skills it seemed, how fortuitous.

\---

A cook, Kurapika was not. He did well enough to feed himself and sate Chrollo’s undiscerning palate, but that was as far as his skills went in that regard. That being the case he had returned the horse to its owner and wandered off to rejoin the revelry. His feet carried him off towards the sounds of cheering and shouting and soon enough the fighting pens revealed themselves. Anyone willing to fight jumped into the wooden pens to prove themselves while others stood outside to holler and jeer. Bets were taken, mostly by those unwilling to hop into the pens themselves.

Two dark eyes flashed in his vision and Kurapika’s head snapped into steady focus on the face they belonged to. A large, lanky man with a definition to his form that came either from building or farming if not both and more. His short shorn hair matched his eyes, and he had stripped down to his rolled up pants for the fight.

Kurapika forgot to breathe.

By the time he returned to his senses he was down to his sleeves and pants, already straddling the top of the fence to slip into the ring. The man straightened up from his prepared stance and laughed at him. “C’mon kid, get the hell out of here and let someone more my size fight me.”

Kurapika spun on his ankle while the other sailed above his own head to slam into the forearm of his dumbfounded opponent. “Hold your tongue until you’ve actually gauged your enemy’s skillset.”

“Shit. Yeah alright, point made…”

“Kurapika.”

“Leorio.”

The knee came towards Kurapika’s almost too fast for him to dodge but he managed, having to throw himself back and off balance. He grabbed the fence behind him with an outstretched arm before throwing himself to Leorio’s left and shouldering him across the pen. One large hand grabbed the back of his shirt and for a moment, a full second before the muscles in Leorio’s arm could bunch and allow him to pull Kurapika off, he could feel the heat from the other man’s body wash against him like a wave.

Kurapika took the throw in stride, using his dancer’s feet to turn the momentum into his own before throwing it back at Leorio in the form of a fist. Knuckles to palm, knuckles to palm, then finally knuckles to jaw with the first solid hit of the fight. He paced around in a wide circle as Leorio rubbed his jaw and shook the stars from his vision. 

He forgot to put his guard up fully when the man shook his head and barreled forward into him, but was still able to dodge with a spin and avoid the bulk or Leorio’s body. An arm looped around his waist, however, and he was yanked off his feet and to the ground regardless of his graceful steps. “HA! GOTCHA!” Leorio’s excited tenor burst from his chest with all the power of the sun and Kurapika couldn't help but laugh. He let his head fall to the dirt to match the rest of his now very filthy body and caught his breath.

“You have too much energy.”

“I have just the right amount of energy.” Leorio grinned at him without pulling away, at least, until someone from outside the ring whistled through their teeth.

“You two gonna finish cuddling anytime soon or should we build a new pen to fight in?”

The sweaty body above him suddenly sprang up and allowed dirt to rain down onto Kurapika’s face despite the arm he raised to block it. When the dust cleared again with a short burst of a breeze, he saw Leorio’s hand outstretched to help him to his feet. “C’mon, lets go cool off yeah?”

Kurapika felt that nervous flicker in his stomach, some memory from childhood to match a time he stole something from his mother’s belongings. Something he shouldn’t do and would surely be caught for.

He took the offered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.

\---

Down a ravine towards the sound of rushing water, a breeze blew through every dark and glimmering leaf in the forest as they descended. Leorio seemed to move with his whole body in a desperate bid to stay upright while Kurapika kept every bit of himself upright despite his dancing feet, only glancing at his companion to offer a smirk before taking the lead down the last stretch of land before the rock-line banks of the river. Off with the sleeves and pants and down to his underclothes; nothing more than would cover his chest and nether regions. Leorio had less modesty, stripping down to absolutely nothing as he launched himself into the water.

Kurapika was used to this, he’d always been more focused on covering up his body than his neighbors. This was the first time he’d ever felt acutely bemused by his need to hide his body. Adding the fact that he wanted to reveal himself felt dangerous, which only made him obstinate about yanking the band off over his head and the cloth from around his waist and wading into the river weeds behind his new companion. With the tannin-rich, silty water turning the water to milk tea he was hardly revealing himself anyway, and Leorio only breached the surface of the water to shake droplets from his hair like a beast once Kurapika had made his mind up and joined him.

“Not as cold as the water on my mountain, but hoo! Better than it was.” Leorio’s dark eyes were glittering with sunlight, not all of which was from outside himself. He laughed easily and leaned backwards to float in the slowed current near the shore, bracing one foot against a rock to keep himself in place near Kurapika.

“Not as cold as my slot canyon either, the waters here must be slacking.” He glided through the current to stand near his acquaintance as they spoke. “Certainly nothing like the northern land sea.”

“You been there? I thought you were from the Kurta?”

“Ah,” Kurapika brought a hand up reflexively to brush his brow. “Did I give myself away so easily?” Another easy laugh.

“You almost distracted me from my fight when you stood there ablaze like that, then you came storming up to demand a match. You must not feel it when it happens, hunh.” Leorio bounced slightly off the rock, up into the current and flat to his sole once again. Kurapika kept his eyes on the man’s face, sliding no lower than his clavicle.

“I got your attention mid action then, you mean? Serves you right for staring at me while I was fire dancing.”

“Ah! You did catch me, shit. It was a lot to take in alright? You’re graceful.” Leorio’s eyes softened with his smile like sun-warmed brackish waters, clear and inviting. Kurapika closed his eyes and took a slow breath, pulling in humid air that did nothing to cool his lungs. “You alright?”

“You’re very kind. Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” Leorio contemplated him for a moment, expression evening out.

“Want to come meet my family?” Did this man think before he spoke even in the slightest?

Kurapika splashed water up over his own face, into his burning scalp, and nodded. “Sure, why not?” 

Leorio straightened up in the water with a grin and pressed a kiss to his cheek faster than he could process. “Let’s go then!”

\---

Leorio’s family hailed from one of the villages only connected to the southernmost clan by blood rather than participation in anything major. The solstice was cause for excitement more for the aspect of travel than the festivities themselves, as they were most committed to staying put and tending to the land along with their fields and families. It didn’t lend them much to trade opportunities and Kurapika could see from the state of their tents and clothing that they felt the effects.

He was immediately met by a wiry woman in a tunic that revealed more skin than Kurapika was used to seeing on anyone in their everyday clothing, brandishing a log she had been set to place into the oven. “You bring anymore people over and you better start scrounging up the extra portions from your own bowl.”

“Ah, if it’s a problem I can eat my meal at the firesides-”

“Oh no, if you’re in, then you’re eating here.”

“Mama-” Leorio tilted his head back to groan and got a large knife handle jammed into his pleading hands. “Ah-”

“Dumplings, your friend can help me roll out the dough while you cut up the seared meat.” She beckoned Kurapika over and showed him how she wanted the wrappers crimped around the edges. In the flurry of activity he still had the time to realize this was the mother’s domain, rather than the father’s. He couldn’t imagine his mother knowing her way this thoroughly, certainly not enough to bully her husband into helping. In the forests and fields she’d never have the patience to walk someone unknown to the craft through helping her with traps and fletching.

Kurapika felt his eyes drag across the room to watch Leorio’s back as he sliced the darkened meat into bite sized pieces, eyes flicking up to catch the other set only in time to feel well and truly caught by Leorio’s amused smile. Ah, staring again.

Laying down when evening had truly settled over the tents furthest from the bonfires, Kurapika relished in the sensation of Leorio’s knuckles brushing over his jaw in the darkness. Overwarm skin too claustrophobic for blankets left them with the singular option of lying sprawled out on top of the bedding to feel along skin with fingertips.

If Leorio slid those roughened fingertips over his throat again he was liable to act up regardless of the crowded floor. He was liable to try regardless, until a finger pressed against his lips, then drew across his cheek in an arrow towards the door. Fire licked up his spine to make him nod, dislodging the hand still resting at his cheek.

Into the brush on careful feet, Kurapika was grateful for the distance from the light of the main fires as Leorio slid his hand from the small of his back to to the nape of his neck beneath his shirt. Oh. _Oh._ He would surely perish from the swelter of this summer. The woods were dark but for the moon hanging heavy in the clouds, obscured momentarily by an arch of feathers set to blot out the remaining light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> [UPDATE] Hey so I timed this poorly and I'm signed up for the hxhbigbang2020 event (the same one as last year, not the new one with different organizers) and I will have to put this on slow-mo for a bit. Bit hey timed updates were pretty cool for a while there lol. Chapter 7 has about 1.5k left to write and chapter 8 has yet to be written, but we will get there.
> 
> for now, look forward to all the bullshit I intend to unleash.


	7. Sword point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Causality and the nature of questionable decisions between people very far removed from the term "healthy".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where some of those negative tags come in, consider this a warning.
> 
> Thank you for your patience with me as I worked on my hxhbigbang2020 piece, "That Which Waits", and a thank you to Autumnpen for beta reading this for me and yelling very loudly a few times.
> 
> Enjoy, be sure to pretend I am the manager you wish to speak with afterward!

The sun rose just far enough above the horizon to peek beneath the lifted hem of the tent. The light was warm and accompanied by a sweet breeze that carried the scent and particulate from the surrounding meadow inside to tickle his nose. Kurapika wrinkled his face and turned it in against his arm. That was strange, he must have fallen asleep outside, the Troupe didn’t usually have much reason to lift the bottom of the tent.

Wait.

He peeked above his shoulder to take in the honey warm colors of the tent of a family he wasn’t accustomed to. Yellows and bright greens warmed by the backlit white cloth turned the room a cheerful orange that helped to wake him up further. Soft snoring tickled his ears to the left, and when he turned his head then saw his strange man from the day before. The man’s mother slept beyond the slope of his bare shoulder, and two sisters curled together nearer to their toys with the youngest brother sprawled out fat-limbed and carefree.

Kurapika was an only child, in fact the Kurta didn’t often have more than one child if they managed to have any at all. There were stories that said it had something to do with the Eyes, but it seemed the stronger the family’s Crimson was the more trouble they had with progenity. So Kurapika had never really conceptualized the idea of siblings enough to want any, but now that he was sharing a floor with so many close family members he wondered… What would it have been like?

Would he still have felt so out of sorts? Or would he have made more friends with someone more likable by his side?

He didn’t get much time to ponder that as the next to wake up were the children, and with their noise rose the mother and eldest son. Leorio yawned and tumbled his siblings (as well as Kurapika) to the stove to wash up with the water his mother had set to boil first before setting about to cook breakfast.

\---

The solstice festivities continued with yet more games spread out wherever there was room to play. Sheeps bones, mount racing, and ball games littered the well trampled ground and distracted Kurapika enough to not think better when Leorio took his hand. It seemed that luck had abandoned him long ago however, as it was not long afterwards they physically bumped into none other than Chrollo himself.

He seemed pleased to find Kurapika at first glance, and then Kurapika saw his smile strain and vanish. Despite the futility he still tried to let go of Leorio’s hand before it became an issue, at least to save the man from the murder he knew Chrollo’s hands were capable of. The image of a villager’s gaping, bloody throat filled Kurapika’s mind and froze his features as the world seemed to…

Disjoint.

He was very much in trouble, wasn’t he? Would this mean blood? It shouldn’t, it was only hand holding. It was only sharing a pleasant day with someone he’d just met. The guilt sat heavy in his heart and made it clear he wouldn’t be claiming innocence even in his own mind, not with the facts sitting so heavily upon his heart. Leorio crossed his arms and frowned, one eyebrow shooting near his hairline while his mouth snarled open. “You know this guy, Kurapika?”

He nodded. Chrollo’s smile returned albeit far from the pleased version preceding it. Kurapika allowed his body to move for him as he reached for his husband’s hand, sparing Leorio a hard look that bade him keep his mouth shut. The distress in Leorio’s body made its way to his mouth far too quick for his silent warning, however.

“Hey now, what’s going on? How do you know Lucifer?” Leorio turned to Chrollo and seemed to tower with his hand's-length height difference. “What are you trying to pull here?”

“My dear, how strange that he knows who I am but not who I am to you.” The calm in his voice was the most unconvincing lie Kurapika had ever heard from him. Violence sat in the set of his shoulders, in the intensity of his gaze. There would be no avoiding this. Leorio backed off like the tide and stared at Chrollo with what looked like the dawning of realization--and fear. Kurapika cleared his throat.

“Yes, I hadn't thought to bring it up.” He could feel both their eyes on him. There was only one safe way out of this standstill and he took it by the hand, walked Chrollo towards their tent until the other took over and slipped his fingers between Kurapika’s.

The world blurred into an amalgam of sound and color as Chrollo pulled him along by the hand. His grip was secure but gentle, almost like he could pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t dare. The feeling in his gut was like gravel tumbling over the edge of a cliff met with the sudden realization of it’s plummeting. There was nothing good at the bottom of a long fall.

Kurapika’s head twitched to the side at what sounded like the voice of someone he knew, but he was moving too fast and his mind refused to focus on anything but keeping up with Chrollo’s pace. It was a short lived relief when they stepped inside the tent. Chrollo turned to him and put a hand against his chest, then stepped closer. The pressure was enough to force Kurapika back one step at a time until he felt the chimney press against his spine. There was nothing in the stove besides old coals, so there was no heat to make this unbearable too quickly.

Chrollo watched him without moving at first. His expression was hard and probing, lips drawn into a small frown that accompanied him whenever he was deepest in thought.

He’s planning the punishment.

The realization came without hesitation. Kurapika pressed his back tighter to the chimney and glanced to the side to catch the interested looks of a few Spiders. Chrollo’s head turned while his gaze lagged behind, and when he finally looked where Kurapika had their fellows cleared out of the tent with lazy legs and pettering conversation. When Kurapika turned to face him again there were already two chips of flint to greet him.

“Put your hand over your mouth,” Chrollo’s voice was hardly a murmur as he let his lips brush against Kurapika’s cheekbone. “And hold your breath for me.”

Obedience only led to the next step of this dance, and that disjointed world from before rushed back to him as his eyes flicked up to stare at the light through the weave of the tent fabric. People rushed around outside. There was the shriek of a surprised child, the groaning of camels, the clash of blades from the sparring ring he could only barely remember seeing as if through fog. Chrollo’s hand was cool where it pushed his tabard aside and moved beneath his shirt. Battle hardened palm against well protected skin pulled taut over Kurapika’s rib cage.

Pressure. Fingers wrapped around to cradle the muscle beside the ridge of his spine while Chrollo’s thumb rubbed a circle over one of his lower ribs. Kurapika swallowed and pressed his hand tighter over his mouth, took another short breath to fill his lungs further.

Why was he going along with this?

Why was he standing here doing as he was told?

Kurapika lets his unsteady gaze float down to look at his husband’s face again and wondered, in the space between blinks, if he was more afraid for his own safety or for Leorio’s.

The rib beneath Chrollo’s thumb snapped like a twig underfoot and Kurapika’s body jolted forward. A sound like steam left his nose while his face ground against the other’s pectoral muscle. Chrollo pressed down again on the broken rib and added the heel of his palm to use that point of contact to straighten Kurapika’s spine against the chimney once more.

Chrollo tugged the hand away from Kurapika’s mouth and interrupted his pained gasping with a long kiss. Then another. His lips stuck from the half-dried saliva of Kurapika’s panicked mouth as he finally pulled away. “Go on then. Enjoy the rest of the festival.” He pressed against the growing bruise, and only when he stepped aside did Kurapika even begin to catch his breath.

\---

Kurapika stepped out into the festival fray feeling like he just ran from one canyon to the next without stopping. His breath sat high in his lungs and refused to make its way to his numb fingertips. He didn’t feel real. He didn’t feel like he should be out here among so many raucous people openly enjoying their time.

Misery clawed at him from the back of his throat until he coughed on it. He buried his face in his elbow to hide the way his expression tore open from the pain of his broken rib, forgetting how perilously close it sat to his diaphragm. It was a relief to look up and see a concerned face he knew as he was nudged away from the crowds.

Leorio’s brows seemed fit to fuse as he led Kurapika to sit down in a patch of long grass. “Did he hurt you? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“It was nothing major, don’t think on it.” Kurapika wet his lips and tasted Chrollo’s breath for a moment. It was more than enough to make his pulse spike, but he put it from his mind quickly when he realized Leorio wasn’t buying it. “... I mean that I would rather think of something else. Just for now.”

Two large hands took hold of his own, squeezing them slightly. “We’re gonna have to talk about this later, but we can just enjoy the solstice for now. I mean, he’s really gonna let us, like nothing happened?” Kurapika nodded rather than release any sound past his bear trap jaw.

A kiss to Kurapika’s jaw and an easy acquiescence that he could grow accustomed to. They allowed themselves to think of nothing but festival games and the storytellers’ tales. Allowed, but in Kurapika’s case, could not necessarily comply as the fire seeping into his broken rib stole his focus along with his good mood.

\---

Although the festivities did crawl on into the wee hours, they did not last through the night. At some point the bulk of the crowd left the main fires in favor of their private stoves and pits to laugh in softer tones. Kurapika could not bring himself to return to either his own tent or Leorio’s. Instead, he lowered himself to the ground near the center bonfire now dying to coals, and allowed his tired eyes to ease most of the way shut. The blurry stars smudged over with sooty clouds filled the vista, encroached upon only by the sleepy bushels of tents stretching away into the night.

He had worried his injury might keep him awake, but his fears were blown by the breeze as his spirit sank through his spine and into the earth to rest. Sleep took him with reckless abandon, not even a passing thought towards the rib that had spent most of the day screaming for all it’s worth.

Memory of festival music, of a child’s drum, of the sound of hooves, horses racing across the steppe towards a village. Steppe became meadow became well worn paths, the clan that never moved, the ones who built their permanent shelters and settled into the soil. This was the land of tilled earth and heated metal shaped by force and fire. And he was going to burn it to the ground. He was himself and yet he was also every member of the raiding party, grabbing up fire from nothing and dispersing it, spreading it like a disease. The sword at his side came loose next, as did the head from the body of the first man to approach him.

Kurapika became death and the hand that dealt it. He swung his arm and thrust through the bodies of those he had set out to kill, and when there was no one still on their feet and no more horses left to slaughter, he pressed his blade into the throat of the man at his feet. Dark hair, dark eyes, sharp jaw and eyes that begged for more than this dusty end slicked with gore.

The shock of Leorio’s face bloodied by his own doing wasn’t enough to dislodge him from his sticky dreams, but the pain of his rib resumed and pulsed like a beacon of sanity through the mental mire. When he did finally wake at morning light he knew the dream was far from unrealistic. He was sure, somehow, that he had stolen the night thoughts of his husband.

He could not stand by and allow the future to unfold unabated.

\---

“I’m sorry, I believe I misheard you,” Chrollo allowed his eyes to slide shut as a smile bled his mouth wider. “You should rethink this.”

Kurapika had pressed up against Chrollo in front of the Elder’s circle to be sure he had their attention as he slide the man’s sword free of its scabbard. He swung the blade out, stepped back, and let the flat of it rest on Chrollo’s shoulder. The man’s eyes narrowed with the promise of a poorly made decision. “I said, I challenge you to nullification of our arrangement.”

“Arrangement,” He rolled the word across his tongue like a new flavor of wine. “Our marriage, you mean.”

“Yes.”

The Kurta Elder’s expression was displeased although not particularly shocked. No, it seemed the scene unfolding before him was fit to put him in an early grave as his remaining energy evaporated. “Kurapika put that sword down and stop being so dramatic.”

The put-upon dismissal stoked Kurapika’s ire from spark to flame. He turned to face the Elders fully, eyes lighting up as he spoke. “I will not be ignored by you for a second time. Hear me and allow me my right to annulment. Hear me or it will be you I fight.”

“Testy.”

Kurapika kicked the hilt of the sword up with his palm so it swung over his own shoulder instead as he slammed the pummel into Chrollo’s pectoral. “Silence until you accept.” He kept his growing anxiety in check as Chrollo tilted his face up to watch him from the rims of lower lids. A bared throat he knew would remain unharmed, damn his consort’s fury.

“What is there to accept? You want to fight for your right to sleep around despite being injured. I’m not sure which would be more insulting to the both of us; accept and beat you to the ground or pretend I never heard this. Instinct leads me more towards the latter option, my dear.” Chrollo’s fingertips were dyed black with soot and gum, waxed into the nails darker than the skin. Something he had done during the evening, possibly with the ashes of the very fire Kurapika had slept so fitfully beside. He grabbed the hilt without care for the smaller hand trapped beneath his own, and tilted the blade until it bit into the soft flesh of Kurapika’s throat.

“Enough, please. I will hear you, Kurapika, just as I will hear Chrollo. However the sword must be put away before I gather the council, am I understood?”

Chrollo’s eyes did not stray from the red glow of Kurapika’s glare, did not blink nor waver, even as he smiled and lifted his palm enough for Kurapika to pull his hand away. The sword was sheathed at his hip in a smooth motion that hardly allowed the scrape of metal to ring out. When the elder turned away, Chrollo lifted his hand to caress the rib he had snapped the day before “The flesh is swollen, now is not the time for this sort of skirmish.”

“I can ignore the thorns long enough to tear up the roots,” He pushed the hand away but did not fight as Chrollo captured his own and brought it to his bare lips. A kiss, then release. They waited until one of the Elders beckoned them inside.

\---

The summer blooms along the grassy slope swayed in a gentle breeze, yellow and purple dots among a swath of green that became a list of ingredients and steps in Kurapika’s mind. He breathed in all the way to the root of his lungs, then let it out as he laid down beside his friend.

Pairo was completely blind now, the sight of the flowers and the dye they produced lost on him, but he still pressed his face to the earth to feel their soft petals against his face, smell their perfume up close without picking them. He turned to face Kurapika and reached up, tracing fingertips over the man’s face to feel each feature, judge the line of his mouth and find it curled softly. “You’re still such a liar.”

“I’m not. It makes me happy to spend time with you, always, and after so long.”

“Only two seasons.”

“Two seasons too many, I’ve spent every day with you up until I left. I’m glad you’re here.” Kurapika plucked a few bright petals and let them fall over Pairo’s face until he laughed.

“You’re wasting them, they want to attract insects with those!”

“They have their sweet smell, they’ll be alright.”

The wind took the petals away to spin down the slope towards the river bellow. They would get caught among the rocks at the bank and go sour, bruise from the tumbling rivulets. Pairo sighed and lifted his eyes to the clouds scudding silently overhead, dispersing the sunlight. “You’re happy with me, but you are unhappy. Even your smile is dull. Your voice is wrong. I can tell when you’ve been crying, you know.”

“I haven’t been crying, but I am in pain. I’m sorry for not telling you.” Pairo’s knuckles found his cheek and settled there, the top of his hand in the grass. “I’m fighting him tomorrow.”

“To leave, right? To come home?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to come home yet, but I can’t stay with him any longer. I never should have accepted the stupid marriage in the first place, I should have run away.” He knew even then that he couldn’t have fled, that something bad might have happened if the Troupe didn’t get their way. By the time he knew he was being married off, Chrollo had already been promised his hand, he would have been insulted.

Or, at the very least, he would have gotten his reason for carnage.

“Your face has gone tight again. I think you’re doing the right thing, you shouldn’t be so unhappy.”

Kurapika looked at his friend, and he remembered when he had thought there was no other heart for him in this world. Even now he loved Pairo, but he understood the feeling differently. He knew how childish it had been. “Thank you. I won’t lose, and I won’t be alone. I’ll come back to you and take you to my place in the canyon when I’ve gotten the running out of my system.” Pairo laughed at him once more and pressed his palm to the full of Kurapika’s face.

“You’ll never get it out of your system, make me a better promise.”


	8. Horizons and gatehouses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a fate that befalls relationships halfbaked and forced into existence. Kurapika chooses to fight for fate to bend to his will.
> 
> Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Chocoholic221B for beta reading this little monstrosity! And happy birthday to me, here's the end of a fic very dear to my heart as celebration ^w^ <3
> 
> Guess the song the chapter title is based on and I'll tell you the synopsis of the epilogue fic ;)

His father sat with his fingers linked together, brow drawn and eyes far away in thought, a frown in place that made Kurapika’s pulse hammer despite his conviction. His mother stood to the side with her hands gently pressed over her mouth—tips of the fingers over the pout of her lips.

“It’s already been decided, you wont change my mind.”

“Be quiet, Kurapika. I’m fully aware of how these things work and there is much more to consider than if you win or lose-”

A rage welled up in Kurapika that spiked when he cut his father off. “You think I didn’t think this over fully?”

“I think that you’re rash and immature, how could you have chosen to do this without it being a knee jerk response to not getting your way?” Karina reached out to grab her husband’s shoulder hard enough to whiten her knuckles, sending him into a stormy silence. The broken rib beneath Kurapika’s shirt cried out for attention, but he ignored it. If he showed them, they would ask how he got it, and he wasn’t sure how Urik would respond to knowing his son was adulterous. He wouldn’t care what the circumstances were, that Chrollo had locked him away for months for the crime of not marauding at his side, that Kurapika had found someone who made him feel good. No, all Urik cared about was that Kurapika was breaking tradition and would come back to remain a burden, he didn’t need to bring up something the man would view as shameful to their whole family.

He was sure Chrollo would make that known all on his own.

“I’m not coming back. After I win, I’m leaving the territories to explore the world like I’ve wanted since I was a child. You won’t be denying me this.” He saw Karina twitch and finally turned his glare away from his father to feel the truest stab of guilt this entire scenario has brought upon him. She had tears on her face and watched Kurapika with regret, nothing like the stony anger of his father. “Mom, please don’t cry.”

Karina let go of her husband’s shoulder to cross the distance between them. Taking Kurapika’s face in her warm hands, she pressed a kiss to his forehead that had him clinging to her tight enough to make his injury light up. He stayed silent only because of the rock lodged in his throat and the unpleasant idea of his father seeing him cry. “I thought you would be taken care of.”

He pressed his face to her shoulder and felt his eyes water despite his wishes, and he held his breath. He couldn’t stop the wet sniffle when she continued, “If you want out, get out. That’s all there is.” He nodded silently, and when his father finally walked out of the tent, he let himself breathe out a small sob. Kurapika would best his husband or he would have to run away, with or without the blessing of the Kurta.

\---

During his months of time alone in the castle, Kurapika had been everything but sedentary. The sword in his hands was a true extension of his arm, the weight was familiar and the movements fluid as he let it slip from the scabbard and twirled it around himself a few times. Without a partner to have sparred with he was at a disadvantage in skill, but at the very least he wasn’t as unfamiliar with the weapon as those first few fights. He stepped into the dusty enclosure and failed to not draw comparisons to the wrestling pen. When he looked up, Chrollo was removing his coat, allowing it to fall in a heavy heap of dark leather folds.

Kurapika’s traitorous heart twinged in longing for the man he had once hoped he would grow to love. He had grown to love. Once again he wished his husband had been a better man, but the thought was followed as the hare by dangerous thoughts, their snapping jaws reminding him that this opponent was a skilled murderer. Chrollo seemed to have been born from the boiling blood of a burning village. Kurapika swung his sword again and stepped forward to signal his readiness to begin and this time he saw no pleasure in Chrollo’s eyes. His face was a mask to Kurapika now, hiding intention and emotion in the stirred up pools of his eyes and porcelain features.

The Elders sat in their cloister buzzing to each other in clear disapproval. They never liked this sort of thing, did they? Kurapika wanted to win just to watch them shake their begrudging heads and acknowledge his will. 

There wasn’t enough room for everyone at the festival to gather to watch, but they had made a great effort to do so regardless. This wasn’t like the wrestling games, or the sword dances, or anything fitting the festival really, and the crowd didn’t know how to act because of it. Silence engulfed the grounds around them with echoes of life beyond the walls of people. It wasn’t as though this was the first divorce in recent memory but Kurapika couldn’t recall ever hearing of one so public, or between a clan leader and his consort. This was an outstanding event.

Chrollo approached, and did not wait for any sign to begin. He swung his sword with a backhand motion that aimed to lop off Kurapika’s head, and which sent his feet scraping across the ground when he brought up his guard to meet it. Kurapika stepped back and brought his blade around to meet the next few strikes with every intent to find the opening rather than simple defense. He found that Chrollo was nothing but openings, at every angle he wasn’t directly attacking from, and Kurapika clamped down on the sense of unease that overtook him. It was like in the canyon, not the fireside sparring matches in the middle of camp; Chrollo was trying to kill him, and he now had the knowledge to recognize this as an act of love.

Once more the heavy sword whistled towards his skull and he arched over backwards to avoid his death. He caught his weight on one hand and rolled with the motion to kick Chrollo’s elbow with the momentum, sending the man’s sword above his head still caught in an iron grip. Chrollo grunted when he realized he wouldn’t be able to control his trajectory and allowed the hilt to slip from one palm to the next and spun with it. He met Kurapika’s first strike of the evening, and with a dangerous glint to his eye brought his knee to Kurapika’s gut like the bones had been attached by pulleys and drawn tight. Wind from lung, his broken rib lit up the whole left side of his torso like the northern lights. He gripped his sword and slammed the tableau of his fist against the underside of Chrollo’s jaw before he hit the dirt, trembling but unable to breathe for too long.

Down in a fight against a warlord.

Wind rushed to the base of his lungs and filled him up from there. Kurapika leapt to his feet and once again iron clashed ferociously—sweat gathered in his bangs to whip off in shining droplets as he met Chrollo swing for swing. They turned the air into a blacksmith’s mockery as they forged their parting words from iron and locked eyes. Once again he was bested as Chrollo’s blade set sparks along the top of his own and tore a bloody gash across his chest, but Kurapika had learned already that this was not a fair fight. He wiped his free hand across the wound and threw blood into his opponents eyes before turning his sword and jamming the hilt into Chrollo’s shoulder in vicious mockery of their earlier disagreement. A shin to the ankle and the man hit the trampled dirt with all the grace of a loaded pack. When he managed to clear his vision he noticed the point of Kurapika’s sword at his throat first, and felt the slipper on his blade second when he made to retaliate.

“Yield.”

“Would you let loose my beating heart if I refused?” The fight had left Chrollo flushed and filthy at his feet, his hair completely fallen from its hold and his makeup smudged beyond recognition. His mouth curled with the bitter flavor of his failure and once again Kurapika felt the pull to stay, to maybe beat this wild thing into domesticity.

“You would like that wouldn’t you, dear? Yield, you’ve lost.” The softness of his tone sapped the last of Chrollo’s strength, and he watched as he lay back on the ground with his arms loose by his sides. Chrollo’s eyes shut before he called, between breaths, the end of the match.

With the tension gone from the air, Kurapika met the ground when his shaking legs finally gave out. The motion jolted his rib yet again and made him clutch his side until Chrollo lifted his head to meet his eyes. He rolled onto his side, then pushed himself to his knees, and when he had his balance he slipped an arm beneath Kurapika’s on his good side to help them both to their feet. Together they walked back to their people amid the throng, and Kurapika allowed himself to memorize the scent of his once-was.

\---

Leorio had square hands with long fingers, rough from life he led but gentle for the sake of it, as well. He washed the gash across Kurapika’s chest with a cool cloth, then rubbed a salve into it before wrapping thin gauze around his upper torso. Loose to let him breathe and move freely as well as high enough to not constrict his broken rib. For that, also, Leorio had brewed him a tea that tasted better than the stuff they made in his village to banish the pain. Kurapika licked the taste of something sweet from the edge of his cup and thought of tree sap and the nectar of red flowers.

“Maple syrup, we stay all year so we’re there to tap the trees. This is from the one near our house.” He pushed Kurapika’s fire-lit hair out of his face and let their lips meld together. “To sweeten you up a little.”

“Not to make the medicine nicer?” Kurapika smiled when there was enough space between them to do so. A beat, and then he realized Leorio was thinking and thus seeing through him. Kurapika pet the other’s jaw until Leorio sighed and let his forehead meet shoulder. “You thought he was going to kill me.”

“So did he.”

“So he did. But he didn’t succeed, and now,” He pulled Leorio’s face up to look at him once again. Angular features that hadn’t lost all their youthful softness yet. “You’re mine. Tradition be damned, the Elders be damned.”

“Don’t say that.” Despite the severity of his words, Leorio smiled once more and huffed. “I’m surprised they let you get away with any of this at all honestly, they’re all bastards for what they did to you as far as I’m concerned. But some traditions are nice.”

Their fingers found each other and linked, warm in the summer darkness, the light from the fire glinted off their rings. Gifts from Leorio’s mother, pretty things with geometric designs worked to the right fit in the days following his fight with Chrollo. Kurapika conceded silently; some traditions were a comfort, he supposed, when they were put to use respectably. Still, Pairo had been right about Kurapika’s need to run the length of the horizon and not stop until his body did. He had no intention of falling beneath the rule of those who traded his life like a commodity, not when they meant it as a punishment and a banishment and became annoyed with him for every way in which he fought them. He rubbed Leorio’s fingertips before speaking.

“Will you come with me? I don’t mean for these rings to signify any promises I won't be around to act on, but I won't be staying. Not even for the end of the festival.” There were no set rules on when the solstice celebrations should end, as most people wanted to let loose for as long as they could get away with, but it was common for the festivities to last for a couple weeks before the clans and families parted ways. Kurapika looked up beyond the rim of his lashes as he waited for Leorio’s answer.

He tipped his head to one side and then the other, as if to knock the thoughts together until they produced sparks. “I’ve seen the southern cities a few times, all their scholars and mosques. It was too long ago for me to remember much but I’d like to go there again sometime, as well as the seaside empires. There’s so much out there beyond the dust, y’know?”

“Mosques and empires, castles and the north hunters, the wars beyond the setting sun. Let’s see all of it, we can return to tell our loved one’s what we’ve seen each time we cross nearby.” Leorio gripped his hands tightly and met him grin for grin.

“We’ll outdo any storyteller at the fire by next year, and every one after that.”

Enthusiasm curled in Kurapika’s stomach and he knew that he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. With the dawn in mind, he reached out to lay Leorio down on the rug of his family’s tent, and was thankful for their polite visits to other hearths for the evening.

\---

Leorio lifted a hand to block the sun as he peered through the drifting dust clouds at the stone castle as it gradually drew nearer. He held the reins to their beast of burden—a camel with all their belongings, and this time a reasonable assortment of gear to allow them to stay out of the homes of strangers. Kurapika was armed with his sword, his bow, and every stolen knife he’d thought to slip into his clothes when he’d last seen this winter prison. If someone was foolish enough to hang around waiting to ambush them, they would learn rather quickly that no one who knew their way here was easy prey.

The sky was a dusty orange that came with the approaching dust storm and its billows of stray devils that descended upon them early. Shots across the bow for a storm they would need to wait out. Once they drew up to the castle, Kurapika showed Leorio where the stables were for their two beasts—the one they rode and the one they did not—before leading him inside the relative safety of the crumbling monument. The wind picked up from a low roar over the stone, echoing through each hall, into a scream that made speaking to one another unbearable.

The howling wind wasn’t the only thing to leave echoes on these grounds. The memories of his time here with Chrollo came unbidden and unfettered, overlaying his perception of the present until he may have been there in body, but certainly not in mind. A wet rag to wash the road from his skin, the feeling of a failed attempt at love, the vines beneath his grasp. Kurapika blinked back to himself when they reached the bedroom and set their bags down in the dim light seeping in around cracked windows and torn, heavy curtains. The sand shouldn’t pose an issue to their health, but there would be no stopping the storm from drifting in through the many weaknesses of the failing architecture. Leorio flopped into the bed and groaned much like the camel they had traveled with for so many days, just barely audible above the clamor. Kurapika was jostled from his thoughts and shook his head in amusement.

The night was loud but blessedly uneventful as the sandstorm passed overhead, churning the sky and the ground into a slurry of violence. The morning came as dim as the afternoon, and Kurapika grew restless waiting for it to finish clawing its way across the land. He needed to move. With the owner of this castle on his mind he kissed Leorio’s temple and pulled himself from the comfort of their bedded embrace. His feet pressed flat to the cold ground until he located his slippers and made his way through the sand-swept halls to the less inviting corridors, to where he knew locked doors hid the remains of a warlord’s treasure. The locks themselves were old things, Chrollo must have gotten them used and put them to work entirely too long ago. Whatever the case, they were laughably easy to break.

Finally, Kurapika was able to look over the hoard belonging to the madman he’d been wedded to half a year ago. Weapons, books, bags of likely impotent seeds, and chests of innumerable coins from too many corners of the world. Things he had cared for but left forgotten. Kurapika felt a foolish sort of kinship with these lost inhabitants of the castle, and he spilled the seeds out along the ground in order to fill the bags with those coins which he knew would be the most useful on their journey. Digging deeper into the chests showed him gems and hunks of metal that knew no borders and no laws, only the malleable greed of man. They shone bright and deep in the light of Kurapika’s small lamp, and he smiled.

Chrollo was going to be furious.

\---

The first thing Chrollo noticed upon returning to the castle was that a sandstorm had passed recently, having done its level best to bury the stone and wipe clean the wind-side of all plant life. The next thing he noticed was the stables, which had been closed tight and left clean, now swung open and held the earthy scent of an herbivore’s droppings. He licked his teeth. Recent visitors, and ones without manners it seemed.

Beside him traveled two of his companions; the master of fire lances and his most skilled healer. The latter of which was Machi, who’s brow furrowed as she took in the same evidence he had a moment previously. “They didn’t stay long, I saw the storm on the horizon a few days back and the scent can’t be any older.”

Pakunoda spoke beside him in a register similar to his own, her gaze unimpressed and relaxed. “In and out. A friend of yours, perhaps?” She slid him a smirk at the sound of his laugh.

“One can only hope. More likely our previous spitfire and his new toy on their way out of the territories. It seems he is being as rude as ever.”

Machi didn’t mirror their sly mirth, in fact as they led their animals to clean stalls, she paused at the wooden threshold. “… Something is wrong, but I can’t say what. We should be careful going inside.” She remained tense as the other two nodded, and carefully approached the building. The glint of sun on metal caught Chrollo’s eye before the tinkle of it rolling across the front step of his castle as Pakunoda accidentally nudged the thing with her boot, and a closer inspection showed it was a lock.

A broken lock, in fact one so similar he felt his tested mood dive into something sour. A broken lock he had placed on the door to something precious, which was placed so centered on the step as to be a blatant message. _‘Come and see what has grown legs, dear.’_ Chrollo could feel Kurapika’s presence in the act and stormed ahead through the buried pathway to the store rooms, all of which had been thrown open and left to the elements. Grit and small stones littered the hallway into the rooms and Chrollo could see seeds and coins spilled across the floor. He closed his eyes upon realizing what had been ransacked, and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his throat.

“Hm. Hm-hm-hm, haha, oh Kura…” He raked his fingers through once-neat forelocks as the frustration bit deeper. He was going to _beat that man_ , tie him up before his new lover and punish him like the spoiled child he was. Chrollo was going to congratulate him on the successful heist before taking the price of stolen goods from Kurapika’s backside. “You would do well to stay very, very far from home.”

\---

Entering the Seaside Empire was like crossing the threshold into a different world, the realm of some god who did not know the taste of poverty or the grit of sand beneath their robes. Kurapika looked around with wide eyes and a mouth that made to stay open at the scale of the realm he had wandered into. Leorio seemed less impressed but just as appreciative, whistling low as they were allowed entrance into the city of the Emperor.

“Check out this place. You think they ever get ransacked just for the hell of it?”

“Leorio, for a man acquainted with life in the city you sure do say things to make people look our way,” Kurapika’s admonition ended with a sigh, weary from the near endless walk on foot they were making beside their creatures. He allowed Leorio’s hand to take the reins from him and lead them both towards a stable rental, then to a room within the attached tavern paid for with Chrollo’s coinage of course. Kurapika made a mental note to drink in his honor later in the evening.

The tavern was draped in colorful lanterns and silk flags with what Kurapika assumed were the names of the establishment, but which he also saw painted onto barrels of wine along the wall. He didn’t know this language’s writing form, and only enough in word to hold the traveler’s conversation assuming it never got too complex. There were a number of inflections Kurapika had memorized through past error but which eluded even his quick uptake on occasion. Perhaps now would be a good opportunity to strengthen his grasp on the local tongue.

He was weary, but longed to see the sea now that they were so close. Compared to the journey it took to cross the bajadas and scrublands he couldn’t imagine being deterred from the coast by simple brick roads and tightly packed buildings. The two of them walked quietly from the tavern to the harbor, hand slipping easily into hand to draw them up close. Only when they walked beyond the towering city gates and could feel the ocean breeze did Kurapika slow from a brisk walk to more of a stumble of feet, until he finally let himself sit on a patch of grass overlooking the harbor town. Buildings and docks that melded together with the waterfront, filling the spaces between paddle boats and sailboats all the way up to warships fit to sink the sun with their burnished canons. Leorio sat just as heavily and wiped sweat from his brow as he took in the view.

The sun descended behind them on its way to setting, readying itself in fiery hues to sink beyond the open desert and kiss the clans goodnight, and Kurapika wondered if his mother knew he was happy now. His thoughts were interrupted as men working aboard the great ships caught his attention. Suddenly and with great vigor a longing gripped his heart, a longing to see what was over the horizon of the sea. “What if we joined one of those crews, just for a while.”

“Have you ever so much as swam into the center of a lake?” Leorio’s tone was incredulous but not unkind.

“Admittedly no, but aren’t you curious?”

Silence greeted his query, and then, “Yeah… Yeah I guess so. I’m not sure if I want to sail off into the ocean to find out what's out there though, and I know you aren’t gonna stop thinking about this easy.” He rubbed his mouth in thought.

“How about we gamble for it.” Kurapika let his lids lower and his expression pull into something more secretive. “You’ve played knucklebones for articles of clothing, have you not?”

The sight of Leorio’s dark ears burning a darker red lit though by the sun behind them made laughter bubble in Kurapika’s chest, but he held it in for the moment. “Of course I have, you gotta know I’m the leading champion back home. Sure you wanna play a losing game, sunshine?”

With the glittering sea before him and his riled love beside him, Kurapika finally allowed the grin to escape his control. “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it was about time I wrote a story with an objectively happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in a fantasy version of middle Asia, mostly Mongolia. This is not actually Mongolia, nor Earth. It could be a historical version of the Hunter world if you'd like it to be but I'm personally playing fast and loose here.


End file.
